


To Ponder Pomegranate

by Pres310



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: College Years, Gay yearning, Greek Myths, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pomegranate Seeds, let the scientists be in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27677672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pres310/pseuds/Pres310
Summary: An assignment to brush up on his knowledge of the Greek Myths leaves Ford Pines in a particularly stranger place than he expected.
Relationships: Fiddleford H. McGucket/Ford Pines
Comments: 1
Kudos: 33





	To Ponder Pomegranate

“ _The color of my love is staining and sweet and deep / and pomegranate seeds stain pink_ ”

The pages are waxy and thin and the words are crowded, to the point where Ford can hardly read them, even with his glasses. The prose are thickly crowded and printed dark, thick. He groans outwardly as he leans back- and promptly flinches when he sees a familiar pair of round glasses.

“Fiddleford!”

“Howdy Ford,” the shorter man towered over his friend, on account of Ford sitting down. A curious and soft breeze blows by warmly, brushing Fiddleford’s hair out of his eyes and his slight tobacco scent towards Ford. The breeze ghosts a touch over Ford’s cheeks and he takes a shameful moment to pretend it’s a much more preferred touch.

“Greetings,” Ford turned back to his book. Fortunately, he soon felt the warmth of a possibly-too-close friend at his side, a curious face craning to see the book in question.

“What’s all that about?” His voice is too quiet and too soft. Ford is dimly and wretchedly aware of people seeing and therefore perceiving them.

“Assignment from one of my lesser preferred professors,” Ford grumbles. “Refreshing my memory of the Greek myths.”

“Aaaah,” Fiddleford sighs. “Mister Blanche?”

“Yes, Fidds.”

“Can’t stand that dude,” The other man scoffs. “Good luck with that, bud.” Fiddleford nudges his friend gently with his shoulder, coaxing both a laugh from Ford and a genuine, long look at the Tennessee native in question. His cheeks are smattered with constellations of freckles- there’s a small dent just under one of his eyes, the remnants of an old scar. Ford wants to trace it, to ask about the story, but he refrains. He wants a lot of things. He refrains from so much of it.

Ford, a man after the many secrets of the universe, finds himself grappling with one that perplexes him to no end. The closeness in this moment brings a warmth to his face and a pain to his chest that he can’t place, like something pressing down hard on his ribs. Internally, he’s shaking so hard that he wants to collapse into the dirt and into Fiddleford’s hands, to be destroyed so he wouldn’t have to deal with any of the aftereffects of the feelings causing him so much shame.

For a moment, his eyes glance down to the myth he’s currently stuck on- Hades and Persephone. The pomegranate seeds like little piles of garnets, things of the riches and the dead, tart and bitter and sweet. They stain pink-red like cheap wine, the same cheap wine that would spill into Ford’s memory. The same cheap wine that would spill between the two scientists as they whispered out drunken, forgotten confessions and tripped over wobbling feet. Pomegranate seeds, tart and bittersweet, binding Persephone to the dead. To the forbidden world down below. Dragging her with them to a man with more secrets and stories than sense.

Fiddleford rifles around in his bag and pulls out a plastic cup. He opens it, popping a few small fruits into his mouth. With cruel dramatic irony, he offers it to Ford.

“Pomegranate Seeds?”


End file.
